


A Leader In The Street, But A Freak In The Bed

by jessalae



Category: West Wing
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2012-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-05 04:48:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessalae/pseuds/jessalae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If I ever had a soul, you fucked it out of me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Leader In The Street, But A Freak In The Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the free square on my card for round three of kink bingo, using the prompt "pegging/strap-ons"; originally posted on my Dreamwidth August 27, 2010.

The first time, he had a sudden moment of panic right before they got started.

“Are you sure you’re all right with this?”

“Hell yes,” she replied, but she put the bottle of lube back onto the bedside table and settled back to listen to him.

“I mean… if this ever gets out—”

“Nobody is ever going to know but us.”

“Right. I know. But are you sure this is okay?”

“Are _you_ sure?”

“Fuck yeah, I just…”

“If you don’t want to, I can stop.”

“I do, I do want to.”

“All right. Let me know if you don’t.”

“I’m just imagining the headlines.”

“Josh…”

“‘Chief Of Staff Pounded On More Than Foreign Policy’.”

“ _Josh_!”

“Sorry, sorry. Or maybe— ‘A Leader In The Street, But A Freak In The Bed’.”

“All right, we’re done here.”

“What— no, I’m sorry.”

“No, we’re done. Let me know when you’re done playing tabloid journalist.”

He grabbed her wrist, pulled her back towards the bed, and kissed her long and hard.

“I do want this. I do. I just… needed to get that out of my system.”

A moment of thoughtful silence.

“Please?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” she said, kissing him. 

 

If he thought about it too hard, on a long flight or during a momentary lull in the never-ending catastrophe of politics, he still had trouble reconciling this… _want_ of his. At the end of the day, though, he would drive back to their apartment, where Donna was usually waiting, and try to stop thinking. He would kiss her hungrily, desperately, cupping her breasts through her t-shirt and running his fingers through her hair. She would shove him backwards onto the bed and pounce, undressing him with practiced movements. By the time he was on his hands and knees, her fingers moving deep inside him, his doubts would be a million miles away.

She would open him up so slowly it was agonizing, easing one finger in, then two, then three. She knew all the right spots to hit, exactly how to press to make him gasp and rock back against her. Only when he was panting incoherently, precome dripping onto the sheets, would she pull her fingers out and pull the little locked box from under the bed.

He knew every little rustle and crackle the harness made as she strapped it on, the click that meant she had opened the bottle of lube, the hum of the little vibrator tucked behind the base of the dildo. At the beginning, she had pushed it into him inch by inch, until one night she had gotten impatient and realized he liked it better when she fucked it into him in one smooth, hard stroke. She would set a fast pace, her hands gripping hard on his hips. Some nights she pressed breathless kisses to his back and neck; other nights she smacked his ass until it turned red. He loved every minute of it, loved the way she filled him, the way her breath came harder and quicker as each stroke rubbed the vibrator against her clit.

When she brought her hand around and grabbed his cock, stroking with exactly the right pressure and rhythm, he would arch his back and just ride her, rocking back onto the dildo until it her fingers or the silicone cock tipped him over the edge. She would slide out of the harness, scoot up to the head of the bed, and pull his mouth between her legs. Her fingers would tighten in his hair as he sucked at her clit, tonguing her over and over until she shuddered and moaned her own release. He would crawl up to kiss her, and they would lie curled together, sweat drying on their skin.

 

She’s usually the one who starts up the post-sex chitchat.

“‘First Lady’s Chief of Staff Straps On New Responsibilities’.”

“Huh?”

“Another tabloid headline. If someone found out about this.”

“Why do you think you’d be the butt of the joke, and not me?”

“You can’t hog all the infamy.”

“Still, I’m the one with an all-access pass to the Oval Office.”

“All right: ‘Lyman Split By Rigid Silicone… Industry Issue.”

“Stop, Donna. Just stop.”

“Fine.”

“I’m just better at the headline game.”

“It’s because you have no soul.”

“If I ever had one, you fucked it out of me.”

“Hm. You’re welcome.”


End file.
